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All things considered, Ao Bing was rather spoiled.
Ao Bing isn't one who's used to green. Or silk, or shoes, and cotton beds. It's not that he was unprivileged. But he’s much more used to the stone beneath his claws, the scrape of corals against his scales. Ao Guang is strict, but no less of a loving father. He doesn’t deny Ao Bing of his desires. And he never had to hold back amongst dragons who shared similar strength and instinct. As monsters, Dragons are akin to animals. Where humans rely on Intellect, dragons rely on instincts. The instinct to smell out rot and toxins from food, the instinct to move from hot to cold and cold to hot lest they wake up cranky, the instinct to fight, to claw at a threat, and to flee.
There's also the instinct to cuddle.
Ao Bing had cuddled often, secure in the coils of his father. While Gongbao isn't the most affectionate master in the world, as a fellow monster, he understood the drive of instincts. He’d turn a blind eye to a lot of things most cultivation masters would not. Lying amidst red silk under intricately carved wooden frames, Ao Bing finds that he’s quite a rotten young prince.
Chen Tang pass did not recover completely, but as dragons lived long, humans lived quickly. Ghost stories surrounded the pass. Spirits of the victims haunting the streets, demons and monsters crawling under its land —That one isn't quite fictional, Ao Bing thought— and the wrath of the heavens that looms over it like a cloud.
It would take a miracle to blow away the whispers in less than a hundred years. No one could've predicted it, but of course, there's no greater miracle than Nezha himself.
The monsters freed from purgatory were millions in number. Betrayed and abandoned by their kings, the monsters once again returned to rely on their instincts, and it led them to follow the strongest around. They dispersed. Some decided to serve and follow the dragons, some made their own little tribes and dug into the deepest ocean caverns they could find, and some followed the trail of fire all the way to Chen Tang.
Well, by some, as in tens and nearly hundreds. They bow and plead to the ever iron-headed Nezha, before redirecting their begs and pleas to Ao Bing instead. Their naturally wicked constitution made them sensitive to honest, heart-on-sleeve fellows. Ao Bing felt rather offended by such an accusation. He had taken out his hammers, frost flying as he raised his nose against the retreating monsters.
But alas, the true Lord of the land is the Li family. General Li Jing looked for outside support, calling for his brothers and sisters and everything in between. Nezha agrees with the monsters with a frustrated sigh, but under the condition that he's allowed to slave them away as much as he desires. It wasn't long until most of the all the ash and lava were cleared, and new houses were built atop black scorched earth. People, survivors of disasters, and outcasts hop from town to town every year, and the newly built Chen Tang was in need of soldiers, anyone capable and willing enough to sign up for battle. The monsters scared the first few batches of newcomers before they saw the young master of Li, who overpowered these monsters with the boom of his voice alone. Rumors spread; A haunted pass, governed by a man who commands flames and evil. It was an enticing place for those who seek similar things. Chen Tang pass and the Li manor had always reeked of blood and combat. Perhaps, it's only right that it's now filled to the brim with outcasts and martial artists. It became a selling point, and the Chen Tang pass was once again bustling with townspeople.
They — or more specifically, the demons Nezha had gathered up— rebuilt the manor under the Li Jing’s specific designs, as similar as it possibly could to the original. The largest difference was the two new buildings added to the assembly. A temple of ancestors in name, but Li Yin’s name was the only name calligraphed onto the wooden boards. The temple was covered from top to bottom in her favorite purple, where her pill sits within a glass sphere, cast with seals after seals. The candles of the temple are always lit. They're not always like that; they used to be normal candles, but now they're inextinguishable. Nezha's doing, most likely.
The other addition is a humble living quarter, connected to the main house by a bridgeway. Well, it's not exactly humble. It was originally built to be Nezha's and, by extension, Ao Bing's, private living quarters; naturally, it'll have some extravagance. It was rather large, built beside a river and a waterfall, with an empty land of just dirt and scorched ground not far from it.
While Ao Bing was a little worried that Nezha had chosen to live so separated from everyone else, he couldn't help but be thankful for the advantages. It's quiet, serene, and Ao Bing finds that he's free to follow his instincts here.
Dragons like to coil, and they like warm things. Amidst unfamiliar silks and cotton, Nezha doesn't reject Ao Bing's scaly limbs to wrap around him. He merely chuckles as Ao Bing pulls him to his chest. Nezha brings his arms to return the embrace, "What's this? Suffocation by dragon smell?"
A pause, "What smell is that? Is it bad?"
Nezha chuckled as he shook his head, trailing his nose up to Ao Bing's shoulders, "Nah, you smell like rain, or roasted fish when I'm hungry."
Ao Bing rolled his eyes. He supposed that was a compliment. A very Nezha one. Brushing his fingers through his unruly hair, he tightened the hold of his legs around Nezha’s abdomen as he inhaled. Nezha smells a lot like the Long Palace. He smells of ash and stone, like the scent of an everburning furnace. But as he lowered himself to press his lips against the gaunt cheeks, he sighed in relief, “You smell of milk and grass.” The Samadhi fire envelopes Nezha like a second skin, but it can’t completely burn away the smell of humanity, the smell of a child borne of a loving mother and father, and Ao Bing can't help but be glad.
“Huh? You make it sound like I’m a cow.”
“You sometimes do look sleazy and dumb like a cow, but it doesn’t change how endearing it is!”
Nezha cringed. He sighed, twisting himself out of Ao Bing’s coiling limbs, as the said dragon gasped at the loss, “Wait, Nezha! Is it something I said?”
Chuckling, Nezha soaks his face with the basin water by their shared bed, before wiping away the sweat and oils with a towel. “You’re still so bad at compliments,” laughter bounces as he walks over to a vanity, and Ao Bing lets his breath be taken out of his lungs. Unlike many things that they own and share, Nezha’s vanity is something that belongs only to him. The red-tinted wood, the copper mirror, the clay and porcelain jars are all decorated, engraved with the little things he likes. Jianzi, bug-like caricatures of Ao Bing, the lotus flower that could be found everywhere throughout Li manor. It’s not that Nezha actually said anything to Ao Bing. Nezha is kind and doting, spoiling him endlessly. But Ao Bing finds that the vanity seemed sacred to Nezha. When he pulls back the stool and sits down, Nezha is suddenly immortal. A piece of red ribbon is tied around Nezha’s hair of flames, and he uncaps a jar of white paint. Veiny and clawlike, Nezha’s hand picked up a brush and dipped the tip into the jar with swift, elegant movements akin to those of a lady, and Ao Bing watched tentatively as he brought the wet tip to his eyes.
Nezha is many things, and he’s also contradictory to said things. He’s wild, unrefined, and unbowing like a mountain. A force borne of the true flames of Samadhi itself. Yet, Ao Bing finds that he's so delicate, so untruthful of his feelings, and so insecure of his own flesh. Ao Bing, in his many years surrounded by only fish, Shen Gongbao, and scaly dragons, personally thinks Nezha is very beautiful. Gorgeous, even ethereal. Ao Bing watches as Nezha paints the mixture of grounded rice and water over his eyelids, layering the paint over his dark circles again and again, until they are completely hidden. Shame. As a child, Nezha's dark circles were cute. It reminds Ao Bing of a rebellious and brave baby panda. But in his true form, those dark circles are fierce, sharp, and threatening to Ao Bing's heart. He likes them, kisses them every night, hoping Nezha would also see the beauty as he does.
Cleaning some paint off his forehead mark, Nezha placed the brush down and closed the jar shut. He straightens his back and looks at himself in the copper mirror. As the third lotus prince of Chen Tang Pass, if only he had been born a normal child, he probably would’ve known more about makeup. His birth was widely anticipated after all. His parents had written hundreds of apology letters to other generals and noblemen who wanted their daughters to meet him. Without much template to go off, Nezha can only count on the clarity of his memories. He remembers how Li Yin used to apply her own makeup, rare as they were. The white goes over the middle of his face, and he took the effort to follow the curves of his cheekbones. He opens another jar, this time dark red and scented. He brought the brush up and followed the thin line that separates the skin of his face and the dark brown layer of his lips.
Dark, dark, dark. His skin is darker than most, his eyes are darker than most, his lips are darker than most. It’s as if he came into the world charred. For all his talks about accepting his existence as a demon, Nezha can’t help the nagging feeling in his chest. He stole a glance at Ao Bing. He got that stupid, adorable lovestruck look he always has whenever Nezha’s getting ready in front of the vanity in the morning, and when Nezha’s taking off his robes in the night. His pale hands and soft pink lips brimming with honeyed words. Beautiful, he called him with every kiss, the word always so loud and pronounced, even if their noises were muffled by the wood and the singing crickets in the night. Nezha knows Ao Bing doesn't lie. It’s unnatural to him. But even knowing that, he still can't find this beautiful thing Ao Bing seems to find in his sharp, sinister features. He smacks his lips against each other, making sure the rogue is even as he looks at himself in the mirror. There, less charred.
Satisfied with his work, Nezha stands up and grabs the robes he had hung over the folding screen. He smirked at Ao Bing’s following gaze as he winked, snapping the other out of his trance. Ao Bing unrolls himself out of the blankets, stumbling and flustered as he quickly cleans up. He dressed himself in his usual colors. The white that shines under the sunlight, embroidered with blue dragons that dance around a pale red lotus.
As he pulls his hair up into his Guan, Ao Bing catches the reflection of Nezha behind him. A piece of white silk, shimmering contrast to Nezha's messy layers of red, brown, and black, is draped over the bend of Nezha’s elbows, reminiscent of the Hun Tian silk they've yet to take back from the Chan sect.
Their day goes about as usual. Nezha and Ao Bing stride through the streets with heads held high. While Li Jing handles the more public aspect of Chen Tang’s strange rumors and miraculous recovery, the two of them handle the more domestic things. Like managing the people, upholding the law, and some other things that Taiyi Zhenren said that only Ao Bing remembers.
The sea monsters crawl in the darkness of Chen Tang. The residents don't seem to mind much; a lot of them are young and unafraid. The few times either Nezha or Ao Bing had to break up the occasional fights were usually between the residents themselves. With most of the residents being fighters and people hoping to profit off those fighters, the village is often loud with blacksmiths and duelers. Most of these fighters are honorable, they understand the etiquette of martial arts. Despite that, it's not rare for some of these duels and challenges to escalate. They separated ways once they'd checked the village. Ao Bing went to talk to the merchants and craftsmen, while Nezha went to see how the farmers and fishermen were doing.
A young girl, barefoot and red-cheeked, ran over to the white clad figure. Ao Bing’s ears twitched as he heard them approach. Other children followed her, all panting and red like shrimps, “Mr. Ao! Mr. Ao!”
Ao Bing smiled apologetically towards the craftsman he was talking to, “Excuse me.” He bowed his head lightly before shifting his stance to face the children, lowering his upper body slightly, “You all have something to tell me?”
The children skidded to a stop, taking a deep breath before speaking, “There’s a horse carriage coming in from the riverside paths! The uncle said he’s here for special delivery!”
Delivery? Perhaps materials?
Ao Bing followed the children to the back of the village, where the manmade river Ao Bing had directed flows into the village. Hearing jingles of metal and clay, he promptly pulls the hood stitched into his auter robes over his horns. A horse-pulled carriage, covered protectively under hardwood, appears out of the thick green forests. The driver sees Ao Bing, white clad, sticking out easily from the dark, scorched dirt and green mountain forests, “Hi there, Young master!” The man greeted, tugging the horses to stop. He hops off his seat, bowing shallowly in casual courtesy, “Seems like you expected my arrival, are you a servant of the Li family?”
He’s acquainted with the Li?
“I am… a close aide,” —Very close aide, if he might add— “But, my apologies, I had not been told of your arrival. Um, what business do you have with the General?”
“Oh no, it’s not with the General. I received a commission from Young Master Li.”
Nezha?
“Ao Bing!”
Speak of the demon orb, and it shall come. Ao Bing turns around to find that Nezha’s gaze is focused on the stranger as he approaches them. The children squealed and scattered as Nezha shooed them away back to their mothers. With the coast clear, the man ran back to his carriage and pulled out a thick embroidered cotton bag. He quickly returned to his client, who was apparently Nezha, and opened the bag immediately, showing Nezha the two jars that sat within the bag.
Ao Bing isn't one who's used to human inventions. Like the tools they use to plow land, or the concepts that lie behind their clothes and accessories, or Nezha’s fascination with the people’s idea of beauty. Where humans, immortals, and gods go through the troublesome politics and social constructs that they deem as better and elegant, Dragons rely on instincts. The instinct to seek out one’s parent on a cold day under the ruins of their fallen kingdom, the instinct to fight, to comfort, and to sacrifice. Dragons allow their hearts to lead them, and right now, Ao Bing’s heart is telling him that those jars are dangerous .
But Nezha doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a couple of coins, dropping them into the man’s, the merchant’s eager hands, “That's the rest of it, right?”
The man counted the coins in his hands, adding up the numbers in hushed mumbles, “Yes, it adds up perfectly with your down payment. Then, Young Masters.” The merchant bowed again before hopping up into his carriage. The horse starts walking, pulling the carriage back into the mountain, and the merchant soon disappears into the green.
“Nezha—”
“Finally!” Ao Bing feels his tongue go numb, his words dying at the tip of it at the sight of Nezha’s grin. It’s been so long since he’s seen him smiling from ear to ear, cheeks dusted with pink even under all those layers of white. Ever since the events of Wuliang and his mother’s death, Ao Bing hasn’t seen him so happy.
Ao Bing was silent as they walked back into the manor. His instincts were screaming at him to swipe his claws and take away those jars, to summon his hammers and crush them under glaciers of ice. But alas, his instincts are quiet against the laughter and giggles that came out of Nezha’s lips.
It was barely sunset, but they had already retreated to their private building. Nezha quickly wiped away the white and red from his face, revealing the bare skin that Ao Bing had patiently waited to see. Normally, Ao Bing likes to be the one wiping away Nezha’s makeup. That way, he can quickly kiss every cleaned surface as he goes through the motions.
But this time, Nezha immediately sat back down in front of his vanity. He pulls out the two jars from inside the cotton bag and sets them on the table. Disgusting, unworthy, and blasphemous, the ominous jars taint Nezha’s holy altar. Ao Bing held himself from hissing, but his hands were already itching to summon his claws.
No, he needs to calm down. Whatever is in those jars, if it’s for the sake of Nezha’s happiness, he’ll behave himself. For Nezha’s sake, for Nezha’s sake. Ao Bing repeats those words like a mantra, clenching his hands. That’s right, he can hold his instincts back if it means Nezha is happy.
Ao Bing sighs, and he finds himself finding acceptance of this strange jar. He hears the jars pop open and turns around. It was white pain. Just white paint. He really was getting worked up over nothing. It’s just white paint, even if the ominous feeling never left him. Nezha dips a new brush into the jar and brings it to his eyelids. In a single swipe, Nezha’s skin was completely covered in white. He gasped, “Ao Bing, look!”
With each singular stroke of the brush, Ao Bing’s chest tightens. His heart claws against his ribs, but he just can’t see why his instincts are so wary of the paint. Nezha pops open another jar, and Ao Bing nearly jumped.
Dark talons shoot out, vermilion splatters on Ao Bing’s pristine sleeves when Nezha drops his brush in shock, “Ao Bing?!”
A terrible liar, and a terrible lover. He could’ve held it in, allowed Nezha this new source of joy, but instead, he let his instincts win. Ao Bing had truly been spoiled rotten. “Nezha,” Ao Bing opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Nezha could tell there are a thousand words held in the way he’s looking at him, and Ao Bing knows that too, so he doesn’t say anything. He brought his sleeves up and rubbed them against Nezha’s face.
“What the– Ao Bing quit it! That stuff is expensive!”
“Expensive? Then you’ve been deceived, Nezha! It’s poisonous!”
“It’s just paint and rouge!” Nezha grabbed Ao Bing’s hand, firmly but never roughly, and ripped the stained sleeves off his face. He rubbed the warm and reddened skin, a scowl on his messy face. Ao Bing grumbled, his eyes found the two terrible, ominous jars and picked one up. He brings the jar to his nose, and the white paint has no scent, but Ao Bing could sense the presence of earth and death. The other jar had a sweeter scent that acted like a blanket, a deceiving tool for the shadows of evil. Still, his instincts and the shadows of his imagination are no proof that the contents within the jars were dangerous.
But Ao Bing is stubborn, “And you are sure that they are by no means dangerous?”
Nezha blurts out a quick, “Yeah!” before his voice dies. “I… I think?”
“You think?”
The room was quiet, safe for Nezha’s incoherent mumbles as he tried to collect his words, “There’s… Nobles use those stuff a lot and… I’ve heard some got sick after a while,” he shook his head, “but those are human nobles! I’m Nezha! Third prince bold and incarnation of the demon orb!” Nezha slipped his hands into his trousers, a gesture he often does when he’s upset. “I won’t get sick so easily!”
Ao Bing’s scowl deepens. He grabbed the jars— “Wait,” —and with all his might, “Ao Bing, what are you—” he threw them out of the window. The jar flies off like an arrow, hitting some unfortunate decades-old tree deep in the mountains. “Ao Bing!”
“You would put poison on your face?! For what, beauty?! You are already beautiful, don’t you understand that?!”
“That’s easy for you to say!”
He was prepared for anything. A fist, a slap, flames, exile. But as a pair of arms shot out and grabbed Ao Bing’s collars, he was met with the worst possible punishment.
“You are pretty, Ao Bing! You have everything! Everything that I don’t!”
Fat droplets tap against Ao Bing’s cheek as Nezha's looming eyes look down upon him.
“Pale skin, full lips, clear eyes, silky hair, you have it all—” Ao Bing’s lips trembled when Nezha’s voice cracked. “Heck, I was only beautiful when you were in my body!”
His claws retracted, and soft, pale hands came up to try to cup Nezha’s cheeks. The motion burned against his skin. He lets go of Ao Bing’s collar and pushes him away, “Don’t even try, you, you!” Nezha stepped back, his back hitting the wooden wall as he pointed an accusing finger at Ao Bing, “You with your soft, dainty hands and pretty eyes,” he mocked, hands coming up to wipe his own tears. “Don’t you dare!”
Ao Bing stood there, eyes wide and unsure.
What should he do?
“But, Nezha, they’re–”
“So what if they’re poisonous!”
What should he say?
“They made me pretty and that’s all that matters!”
What could he say?
Ao Bing had been spoiled. He knew not of insecurities, not of insults, and not of such desperation. He had known desperation, to fulfil his mission, to make his father proud, to free his people. But never to be accepted, let alone by your own people, your own. He knows of what people say about Nezha’s appearance. Old gossip of the long-dead villagers and the hushed whispers of the Chan sect disciples. How he’s unsightly, gross, and disgusting. They’ve compared him to his brothers, saying how being the demon orb means he’s not his parents’ child, that they hoped Jizha and Muzha would quickly return to slay the demon.
Ah.
‘I see.’
Ao Bing took slow steps, like a predator stalking his prey. Even with their height gap, Ao Bing was still a dragon, a being built to hunt and ravage. He stepped closer and closer until he could feel the heat radiating off Nezha’s chest. He brought his hands up —not the gentle pale hands from before, but the hands of a warrior— and cupped, no, gripped Nezha’s face. His cheeks squished together under the pressure of Ao Bing’s palms as his tears stopped, his expression instead replaced with shock and bewilderment.
“I love you.”
“Hm?!”
Heat radiates from the pink, tearstained cheeks. Ao Bing continues, “Your Mother carried you for three years, your father tried using spells to take the heavenly punishment for you, they both came running into a battle with immortals for you.”
Nezha inhaled sharply, his lips clamped tightly together as trembling hands came up to try to push Ao Bing away, “After all they’ve done,” Nezha tried pushing harder, but he dug his heels into the floor and remained unmoving, “after all the love they’ve given you–”
“Ao Bing–”
“How dare you think so lowly of yourself!”
“Stop!”
“You are the third Lotus prince! Conqueror of demons, subjugator of monsters!”
“I know!” Finally, Ao Bing relents and takes a step back. The tears had returned, and each droplet that rolled down his cheeks felt like a stab wound in his heart. He steels himself, he must be strong. “But, Ao Bing, they talk. ”
“And so what if they talk? You, of all people, know they only speak of prejudice. It's all foolish words, and you’re a bigger fool if you let them hurt you!” Ao Bing heaves. Arguing is tiring, he hopes to never have to argue with Nezha ever again, especially with tears involved. They had joked that Nezha was a weak man, easily carried away by Ao Bing’s currents, but now, he thinks Ao Bing is an equally weak man, unable to think straight at the thought of his beloved hurt.
“But,” Nezha mumbled, his clawed hands came up to his face, stress and exhaustion lining his swollen, reddened, deep colored eyes, “but, what if I am a fool?”
Ao Bing chuckled, and Nezha perked up at the familiar jingle. He smiled, feeling smug for the first time in a while. “Then, must I educate you?”
Nezha stared back with foolish, wide eyes before his face blew up with steam, the red covering his face, ears, and down his neck and shoulders. Seeing Nezha’s reaction, Ao Bing realized what he had said, turned around and collapsed, curling into his knees, steam rising from his head, “Forgive me, pretend I never said anything. I shall go sleep outside.”
“Wa, wait, Ao Bing!” Nezha grabbed his wrist before he could jump out of the window, his own face still deeply flustered. He stumbled on his words, eyes downcast and lips trembling, “I, I would really, uhm, like it if you, ahem, if you would… e, educate… me. For my foolishness.”